


Sometimes With One I Love

by convolutedConcussion



Series: Everything is Whitman and Nothing Hurts [7]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: And There Are Misunderstandings, Another One Where Erik Is Angry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn’d love;<br/>But now I think there is no unreturn’d love—the pay is certain, one way or another;<br/>(I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was not return’d;<br/>Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes With One I Love

In the deep, thick darkness of an alley in this strange city, a young man dips his head low to kiss the mouth at which he’s been staring for far too long.

\---

Erik takes a hard drag of his cigarette, grinding his teeth as he pulls it away from his lips.  He’s staring at the bathroom door, behind which the shower is still running.  He shoves a rough hand through his still-wet hair with a harsh noise of annoyance.  His plan had been perfect—really.  He had been perfectly charming all evening, had even made Charles _laugh_ on plenty of occasions.  Honestly, he wasn’t sure where he went wrong.  He’d been sure that his advances would be welcomed—returned, even.  But then, when he’d kissed him… he hadn’t even _budged_.  Annoyed, Erik had cut off the other and stalked off toward the hotel.  Once inside, he’d showered mechanically.  He stayed in the bathroom for a long time after he was done, hunched over the sink, angrier with himself for being mistaken and being _upset_ about that than at Charles, when the telepath knocked timidly at the door.  Charles opened his mouth to speak, but he’d breezed past him, grunting, “Shower’s free.”

It probably would have been better if Charles had slammed the door.  But he hadn’t.  It barely made a sound.

Snuffing out his cigarette, Erik lets his eyes flutter downward to his pack contemplatively.  He lights another.  His eyes return steadily to the door.  Finally, the shower shuts off.  The moment he resolves not to be ashamed of what happened, the door opens and his eyes shift to the window on the opposite side of the room.  His bed shifts and squeaks and his gaze darts to Charles, who’s seated himself on the edge farthest from Erik.  In his pajamas, he looks terribly small and young.  The agitation in his chest loosens.  The telepath crawls onto the bed until he’s achingly close and Erik realizes he’s holding his breath.  He feels suddenly very vulnerable, lying there with just a towel wrapped around his hips.  He follows Charles’ gaze over to the ashtray, then to the lit cigarette between his fingers.  The other man’s hand hovers just above his as he takes hold of the cigarette.  “May I?” he asks a little shyly.  Erik relinquishes it without comment, letting his own hand fall to the bed at his side, too fascinated by what’s happening to speak.

Charles lifts it to his lips and takes a slow drag.  He catches Erik’s eye and smirks just a little.  “A terrible habit I picked up at Oxford, among others, I’m afraid,” he comments.  “I don’t do it _often_ , mind, Mother never did approve of this sort of thing and I guess I never really got _her_ out of my head, but there are occasions when it just seems appropriate and—“ He stops short and looks sheepish.  He licks his lips and takes another drag.  “Sorry.”  Deliberately, he leans over Erik to discard the last of it into the ashtray and Erik catches the scent off him.  It makes him a little dizzy.

Erik’s mouth is very dry and he has to clear his throat before he can croak, “It’s okay.”

“Kiss me again,” the other says suddenly.

_“What?”_

Sitting up very straight, Charles cocks a brow.  “I said, ‘Kiss me aga—‘”

The kiss is soft, slow, and the telepath sighs heavily and presses against him.

\---

Later, when the sheets are tangled around them and they’re passing a cigarette back and forth, when the chill of drying sweat on Charles’ skin is almost too much but lying there pressed against Erik in so many places all at once is too good to give up, Charles kisses his way down Erik’s throat and murmurs against his pulse point quiet endearments almost thoughtlessly.  With a quick twitch of his finger, Erik shuts off the light.  For a long time, the only thing that can be seen in the inky darkness is that bright-burning ember, floating back and forth, glowing and then dimming.  Then it plunges into the ashtray and it’s all darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I have no idea what you see in these, honestly.
> 
> I just.
> 
> I don't know why I keep writing them.
> 
> I'll just be here crying, don't mind me.
> 
> Oh, yeah, thanks to Mimi for being such a pal and reading this to tell me that it is not in fact lacking.


End file.
